Hello World!
by Zeff N Company
Summary: Chapter 2: Sephiroth and Aeleus/Lexeaus teach young Squall and Cloud about length and width, when Braig/Xigbar decides to interrupt.
1. Hello World!

**Theme: computer program  
Characters: Ansem, Squall/Leon, Tron**

I've been blown away by the number of reviews, favorites and alerts I've received since I last checked my inbox. It makes me feel better about myself, yet still a little embarrassed about not maintaining what incomplete stories I have here. Guess I really should be working on them.

Anywhere, this is the second teaser for _**When Keyblades Rust**_. This chapter is a small snippet of a time before, pre-KH, and pre-WKR at the same time. With luck - and enough approval - I may continue from here.

After all, having the more famous survivors of Radiant Garden in close contact with the founding members of Organization XIII...is not a bad idea.

* * *

It was perhaps true what Dilan said, Ansem now pondered. Perhaps, indeed, he had been too focused on his research to remember his own self-imposed duties. And perhaps, he was noting as well, compromising and putting both his duties and his research in the same place was not the best of ideas.

Certainly, he was questioning himself how feasible it was to have his young charge help him create Radiant Garden's brand new town-wide network program.

Another slam, and he winced, turning to where the small figure of a four-year-old boy was telling the keyboard exactly how frustrated he was in the only way he felt could be communicated across...through unnecessary violence.

"I said _no_!" the boy was protesting loudly. "Pay attention, you hunk of junk!"

"Squall!" Ansem in turn protested, indignant at the boy's outburst.

The boy, realizing his mentor had returned, turned to face him, his assault promptly ceased.

"Tron may be artificial intelligence, but it still requires a measure of respect as a tool of great service! You don't kick and insult Captain Aeleus' blade if you can't pick it up, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Ansem," the boy apologized, his legs swinging back and forth under him as he looked away.

Ansem took in the image of the child, and softened. To think, only a year ago, he had found the shivering young lad wrapped in an oversized jacket and huddled against the castle wall. Only a year, and once the boy finally opened up to him, he proved himself intelligent, quick to learn, dedicated to his given tasks...

...yet with such..._temper_.

Perhaps he _had_ been too focused on research to fix that. But the past could not be changed; now was the time to at least try and work with it.

Crossing the distance between he and the boy, Ansem reached down and patted the small head of brown hair, smoothing the messy strands back as he addressed the issue at hand.

"Now, then, what seems to be the problem, young man?"

Squall promptly frowned in annoyance and pointed back at the console he was sitting before. "Tron won't listen to me."

"I don't think Tron _can_ listen at all; we have only started the programming, you know-"

"No, like this," the boy insisted, turning back to the screen. Ansem, amused, watched as the child tapped in keys, then the amusement was quickly replaced by surprise as he realized the boy was not pressing random letters, but issuing a command.

Suddenly, the screen flashed with bright green words, and a loud, chirpy yet clipped voice called out:

**"HELLO WORLD!!!"**

"See? _See?_" and the boy jabbed accusingly at the screen and the words that apparently offended him. "I've been telling him for ages that my name's not 'World'! He won't listen to me!"

Ansem knew many things in his life, but for that moment, he did not know if he was intrigued that the four-year-old had just successfully created and run a computer program - a simple one, but nevertheless one that worked on the first try - or if he was tickled by the idea that the same boy did not understand Tron was merely printing out an easily changeable default text.

"...perhaps," he finally replied, leaning over the keyboard. "Perhaps if you showed me what you did from the top, we could...ah...convince Tron to listen."

And perhaps, he mused, having this boy's help was not such an impulsively poor choice after all.


	2. What Truly Matters

**Theme: weapon  
Characters: Sephiroth, Aeleus/Lexeaus, Braig/Xigbar, Cloud, Squall/Leon**

Okay, I know what I said in the previous chapter. But this one is Damion's fault.

Who's Damion? Well, he's a crazy bugger. He's also the brains behind using "Hello World" as a theme, and the one who showed me Seanmonster's comics and Ladychimera's artworks in devaintArt, both of which inspire this chapter. You would know him better as Rogancryd, or Flypipe.

Rated for... -cough-_hints-_cough-.

* * *

"Length," Sephiroth insisted. "It's not a question." 

"I insist," Aeleus replied. "Width."

Both turned and stared each other across the room.

"... Length," Sephiroth repeated.

"Width," Aeleus repeated as well.

Then, there was a sudden hush as the General's mighty tool in all its fear-instilling glory was brought forth and displayed.

"Behold, and understand," Sephiroth stated purposefully. "Length."

And then, encouraged by the awed noises in the room, he launched into his explanation.

"When you have length, you can go where others can't, reach into depths that others would find difficult getting to, and do not forget...touch what others would not be able to touch. You have the power of range, of being in control even without being too close. There is a great satisfaction in this length."

Another flash, and all attention diverted to where the Captain of Ansem's Guard rose to his feet. In his hand was his own giant, mighty weapon, as wide in proportion as the General's was long, and when he swung it in open mockery at his opponent, he too earned much appreciative and awed response.

"A man of honor does not need length, but width," Aeleus insisted quietly, even as all eyes stared at the weapon he displayed with such callous regard. "There is honor in not being at a range, but being up close and personal. There is honor in having your presence felt as you make your strike, with each inch forward that you take. And for one who has honor, _that_ is the greatest satisfaction."

Then there was more silence, as the two continued to stare at each other evenly across the room.

Meanwhile, their audience went ignored. Zack was grinning from ear to ear with a weird glint in his eye, apparently finding this whole event incredibly amusing. His juniors, Squall and Cloud, just looked on in confused interest, between their two physical instructors and their grinning senior, wondering what the big fuss was about.

"Perhaps..." the General spoke, his voice low and challenging. "We should_ demonstrate_ our point."

"Agreed," replied the Captain, his voice also but a low growl. "After all, it matters not unless you _use_ it."

Zack, not being able to take it any longer, grabbed his gear and made a hasty retreat from the area. Squall and Cloud later heard him laughing uncontrollably in the distance, but neither paid much attention to it. Instead, their focus was on General Sephiroth and Captain Aeleus, who were now circling one another, eyeing each other with a challenge for dominance. It was a tense situation, and a little like a train wreck - something you shouldn't be looking at, but you're gawking openly anyway.

Then there was a noise behind them, and they turned to see someone else enter.

"Well, if it ain't you two. What's you kids still doing, sitting here?"

"It's the General and the Captain, Mr. Braig," Squall explained, pointing back in the direction of the commotion. "They're in the bathhouse settling a debate."

"A debate? Them?" Braig raised a brow. "What on earth would those two debate about?"

"We asked them what should matter most in a weapon, and they haven't decided yet," Cloud supplied usefully.

Suddenly, Braig seemed really interested. "Well I'll be! So _that's_ what's going on. Excuse me, laddies, but there's only one way to settle all this..."

Stepping around the two interested children, Braig entered the soon-to-be battlefield. There was a loud clunk that could only be the older man's belt, and even as Sephiroth and Aeleus' attention went to him, Squall's eyes widened appreciatively as Cloud continued to be very confused.

"Yo check it, y' _nancies_," Braig declared smugly. "... Multiple rounds."

And then, there was an explosive reaction as the three decided to settle the matter in the most effective way possible, much to the awe of their audience.

"...I think..." Squall finally spoke up, his eyes still wide and staring at the mess before them. "I've found my answer."

"Me, too," Cloud supplied, his own focus trained. "...wow."

Needless to say, when Ansem found out, he was rightly indignant about the three men and their "immature" way of handling the situation, and in front of the impressionable young ones, no less.

It came to no surprise that, shortly afterward, no one was allowed to intentionally display their arsenal within a public bathhouse ever again.

And Zack never did explain what was so terribly funny.

* * *

Damion, I owe you big time. You _and_ your quirky sense of humor. 

**Shadow Cat17**: Well, I always figured that Squall might have started early with the computer, if he knows enough to be always around it in Kingdom Hearts II as he is. But as I said, Damion was responsible for the "Hello World!" idea, which I guess I'm thankful for.  
Thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way - I have full intention of writing _**When Keyblades Rust**_, and hopefully, I'll have it ready soon.


	3. The Book

**Theme: past, future, present, book, inheritance, adolescence  
Characters: Ansem, Squall/Leon, Cloud, Aeleus/Lexeaus, Xehanort, Mickey, Tron**

Hello again, folks. Well, _someone_ sent me a link to proximity-nine's gallery in deviantArt. Anyone of you looking there, it's the picture called "_**when we were young**_". Thing was, I was supposed to be asleep. Thing _is_, I was no longer able to sleep, and instead typed a new chapter to this collection of drabbles in the dead hours of the morning, all thanks to someone else's genius. Again.

That wasn't half bad, considering how many stories were inspired by this artist. What's sending me half off my seat, is that this same guy told me he's going to let her know I did this once it's uploaded.

As much as I want this up, I'm going to get shot against a wall. I just know I am. (And Damion, when you finally get to America, I'll hunt you down and hit you so hard, half your future offspring will be confused.)

Iz-kun, if you are reading this, I apologize to you for any offense...and feebly hope you will appreciate my writing.

Well, this one is a little different from the first two - it's also the first to be an actual elaboration on a flashback scenario of relevance in _**When Keyblades Rust**_. When I actually get it up, anyway.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Master Ansem." 

"Squall. Yes, I did. Thank you for finding him so quickly, Aeleus."

The Captain nodded, and left the room. A moment later, the great doors swung shut with a rumbling boom.

With a casual sweep of his hand, Ansem sent the stack of reports from Ienzo and Even to the side as his eyes didn't look away from the teenager before him. "Do you know why I called for you, Squall?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

"Can you explain yourself?"

"No, sir."

There was a heavy sigh, and the older man pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back into his chair. "Lad, I have known you for ten years, and you have had this...unpredictable fiery temper of yours for nine of them. But this cannot go on - the results of this research mean a lot to the team, not just Xehanort. Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry, Ansem."

"Come over here."

Hesitant, the boy approached his mentor, but continued to look away. The man looked up at him, then rose to his feet.

"This...isn't just about Xehanort or his unorthodox methods, is it?"

There was no immediate reply, and the youth continued to look away.

"Squall, I have always looked upon you as though you were my own son; you know that."

"...yes, sir."

"Do you remember, when you first came here? You had no memory, and no one knew who you were, or which house you came from. As though you had just appeared out of nowhere. For that first year I took you in, my advisors told me to be cautious - they worried about your true origins, and what that could mean for this kingdom. But you proved them wrong, my boy. You showed them that their fears were unfounded, and became the fine young man that stands before me now.

"Do you know the point I'm trying to make, Squall?"

The teenager did not answer, his posture rigid even as Ansem placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Xehanort came to us in a similar way. I know, he is...hard...to understand, but I would like for you to give him a chance. Let him show to you what he can be."

The boy finally looked at Ansem, and it was written all over the stubborn young face that the boy had absolutely no intention of doing anything pleasant toward Xehanort. But he held his peace, and finally, reluctantly, nodded, giving his silent promise to, at the very least, try.

At last, Ansem smiled. Turning, he opened a drawer. From it, he produced a book - bound in blue-dyed leather. Squall stared in open curiosity at the book that was laid before him. Reaching forward, he took it in his hands, and turned the cover. There, emblazoned into the first page, were two words in bold.

"... Squall Leonhart," he read carefully. And then he looked up. "Did this belong to the man you named me after?"

"I'm afraid that secret will remain untold for now, but let me say this," as he spoke, the man reached forward and once again brought the youth's attention to the book. "When I found you wrapped in that jacket ten years ago, you were holding this. I kept it for you while you grew up, and now that you're old enough to understand what may be inside, I am returning it to you."

"You never read it?"

"Never. It was not my place to."

Squall raised an eyebrow at that. "The curiosity must have been killing you."

"Oh, I had my thoughts about the matter, but still, those thoughts were best forgotten."

There was a knock on one of the doors, and then Aeleus' voice rumbled through.

"Master Ansem. King Mickey is here to see you."

"Send him in, Aeleus," Ansem called back. Squall had turned at the knock, and now he looked back.

"... You want me to stay?"

"I suppose you could skip this one session. Go on - go read your book."

Squall grinned - at last breaking the headstrong facade - and headed back to the doors just as Captain Aeleus opened them. King Mickey stepped through, and the two met halfway. Squall, having known the smaller king for half as long as he knew Ansem, bowed formally.

"Your Majesty."

"Hello, Squall," the king replied, smiling as he always did. Looking from the youth to the book he was holding, his eyes lit up momentarily in recognition, and then he nodded.  
"Welp, guess I'll see you later."

Squall nodded, bowing again, this time before Ansem. And then he had hurried through the doors, which fell shut a second time.

"Does he know about that book, Ansem?" Mickey finally asked curiously, as the last of the hurried footsteps faded.

"...not all of it, I'm afraid," Ansem answered, his expression solemn. "I just hope that I've not committed an error in my decision."

"Welp, I'm not one to judge. Still, do you really think this is a good idea? Even if he has that, he may not know what it truly means."

"Which is precisely why I must continue my work with Tron. But that, I'm afraid, will have to be left for another...more private time. Now then, what can I do for you, old friend?"

Mickey turned back to the door, heard Aeleus' heavy footsteps fade as well, and then resumed his task at hand.

"Wise Ansem, I'm here to seek your advice..."

* * *

The first place Squall could think of for privacy, was the cliffs just outside of the town square. It was relatively quiet there, and only he and another knew of this place; apart from three weird little pixies that showed up now and then, anyway. It was, as they had spoken of it, a good place to find and claim their treasure.

Now, it was a good place for him to read his.

Setting the book down in his lap, he turned the cover, again reading the name that was written there in bold. He stared down at that name for a while, not entirely sure if he should carry on. Finally, taking a deep breath, he turned the page.

_**To you who now read this,**_ the paragraph started, _**I perhaps have some explaining to do.**_

_**Where I come from, and the duty that I must carry out, requires that I sacrifice what is precious to me: memory. I cannot forsake this duty, but neither can I forsake the memory of those who are my friends, my family - the ones I that I fight for in the first place. It has been suggested that I write down all that I remember now, that I may someday read this once more, and recall the forgotten memories. It may work, and it may not. Only time will tell. I do not know the future, if I will truly be able to read this again, or if I will come to forget it ever existed. But you who now read this, do so understanding that this is a book of memories. Of my memories.**_

_**My name is Squall Leonhart, and I am acting Commander of the mercenary academy known as Balamb Garden. I have friends here, who have been as close to me as family for nineteen years. Their names are as follows...**_

Then a pair of firm hands clapped him on the shoulders and pushed downward as a shadow loomed over him.

"So here's where you've been hiding!"

Startled, Squall slapped the book to his chest, letting out a nervous exclamation that sounded like a mix between a yelp and a vulgarity. Above him, his friend Cloud - whom he had conveniently forgotten was the only other who knew of this place - hovered and stared down at the blue leather.

"What's that you got there?"

"_Nothing_!" Squall promptly blurted out, slapping the book shut just a second before Cloud decided to make a grab at it.

"Well, if it's nothing, why can't I see it?"

"It's _complicated_!" Squall protested, hugging the book to his chest once more as Cloud started to wrestle him for it. With Squall preoccupied with defending his prize, and Cloud having always been a strong one, it was not long before the younger had the older pinned, though only by the shoulders as the older managed to keep up his death grip.

"Surrender?" he offered.

"Never," came the instant reply.

"Cool. I know where you're ticklish."

Squall promptly blanched as Cloud leaned in closer, leering.

"Still gonna keep that away from me?"

Squall's answer was to squeeze it tighter, his expression stubborn.

The two locked their gazes for a moment, and then Cloud stopped smirking as he easily got off Squall and let him up.

"I was just kidding - it's okay if you can't show it to me."

Sitting up, one hand still holding the book, Squall gave Cloud a grateful smile. The blond shrugged, a facade of nonchalance.

And the two sat there for a moment longer, just catching their breath, and enjoying the cool air from the breezes that came and went every so often.

"... Cloud," Squall started, finally releasing his grip, "about this book..."

"I said, it's okay."

"I'll let you read it. Someday." and Squall looked down at the book he now held loosely in his hands once more. "I haven't really read it yet either, but...somehow, it's important to me. So...someday, okay?"

"If you're sure," was the reply. Cloud got to his feet, turned, and held out a hand to Squall.

Squall took the hand and got to his feet as well. As he followed Cloud back to town, he kept glancing down at the book, and pondering even those few sentences he had read.

_**...you who now read this, do so understanding that this is a book of memories. Of my memories.**_

_**My name is Squall Leonhart...**_

* * *

It was late into the evening as Ansem remained standing before Tron. His meeting with King Mickey had not been long, but it was meaningful, as was often their meetings like that. 

Now, he continued his own task at hand, his fingers dancing over the keys of the computer.

At last, he straightened again, solemn and content. "The rest is up to you now, Tron."

**"I understand, User Ansem,"** Tron replied through the speaker, in "his" usual clipped voice. **"I will keep this safe with me, for whenever you're ready to pick it up. You will have the key, of course."**

"Of course." and Ansem retrieved the small red gummi key that appeared from Tron's disc drive. It was small, fitting easily between finger and thumb, and it was in the shape of a pair of red wings. This, he slotted into the envelope, feeling its warmth even through the material. With that finished, he bid Tron goodnight and returned to his study.

And it was there, that he started to write his letter. To Squall, which he hoped to deliver by his retirement from his position, in the long, long time to come...

_"...it will have been many years since I first returned you the book,"_ he wrote, _"and I know you must wonder about the missing pages, and have more questions about what information is there. Take this key that I leave to you, and give it to Tron. The rest of the information you seek - and perhaps the answers as well - will be there. All of it. Perhaps, then, you will come to understand__ who you are,__ where you came from, what happened to you, and how you came to be here._

_"This is my final gift to you, my son, with gratitude - you have chosen to give this kingdom your future._

_"The least I can do, is give you back your past."_

* * *

**Shadow Cat17**: Glad you liked it - it was fun to write for me as well. I always liked humor. 

**Niana Kuonji**: Hi, again! It's been a while, hasn't it? Don't worry about the weapons bit - I originally wrote it for that until I realized how many "hints" I could squeeze in at one time. Zack was interesting, for how little "conversation" he participated in - if any of the kids was going to pick up on the innuendos, I just knew it'd be him.


	4. Red Wings

**Theme: red wings  
Characters: Even/Vexen, Ansem, Shera, Cid, Squall/Leon, Cloud, Zack**

_I'm in a good mood. A really good mood._

_Also, Damion is forgiven._

_Hey guys, you'll probably be wondering about the change in my Pen-Name (if you weren't, too late); the details are in my profile, so do check it out._

_This is a short one, perhaps a prequel to the previous chapter: it's yet another flashback scenario that will present itself in _When Keyblades Rust_, which - believe it or not - in its final stages of storyboarding before I get it up here. And I feel good about that; I have been waiting for this moment for two years._

* * *

"You know, Master Ansem," Even quipped. "This is getting frequent."

"Hmm?" was all the wise leader answered in his moment of distraction.

"Anyone can pick up strays; you, sir, somehow get all the strange ones. As pots calling kettles black, we would know."

The man held up a test tube to the light, eying the sample within critically.

There was an almost inaudible rustle of sheets, and Ansem once again brought his attention to the small form on the gurney that was just stirring. As he ran a hand through the head of brown hair, the child's eyes cracked open, and the boy stared glassily out at him through those half-lidded eyes.

Ansem smiled as the child tried to focus on him. "Hello, little one."

"He's still heavily sedated, sir," Even interjected, replacing the test-tube in its holder as he scribbled down information. "We could be talking about the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, and he wouldn't comprehend a word."

Ansem lifted the blanket slightly and inspected the unresponsive boy's back with solemnity. "...have you found out what caused the injuries?"

"It's not an animal, if that was what you meant," Even replied. "And - as Aeleus confirmed - it's not a conventional weapon either. Too precise, too symmetrical, too deep, too clean."

The boy shivered, and Ansem gently replaced the blanket. "So what you're saying..."

"General Sephiroth's verdict was right." The pen cap snapped back into place as Even spoke. "It was caused by magic, time-based magic at that - whoever made that mark had to be a highly-skilled mage of sorts."

"I was afraid of that," Ansem mused quietly, once again patting the small head as the boy's eyes continued to stare glassily around. "Any effects on his physiology, though?"

"None, whatsoever. Every test we did confirms he is still just a normal, healthy three-year-old...as normal and healthy as a three-year-old can be with a badly torn back, anyway. Still, no direct damage to the spinal cord, and it's already healing, so he'll be fine in a couple of weeks. Scars though, we can't do anything about."

Ansem turned away for a moment, and ran a hand over the articles that had been laid there, away from the sterility of the rest of the room. One was a black bomber jacket, meant for one much older than the child beside him. A dark brown crust had formed where the wounds had bled through, forming a crude shape likened to a pair of wings. The other was blue-dye leather bound book, and when he turned the cover, he found a name written there in bold letters.

"... Squall Leonhart, huh?" and closing the book again, he looked down fondly at the child who had succumbed to sleep once more.

_My little red-winged lion..._

* * *

"You must be Squall."

The boy paused, as though to think, and then nodded solemnly. The lady before him smiled reassuringly at him as she tapped his nose.

"I cannot thank you enough, Shera. You and Cid."

"We're glad to help - Cid may not say it, but he misses having children around the place," the lady replied. The boy raised his arms imploringly despite the still deadpan expression on his face, and she picked him up. "So long as Cid doesn't teach him to swear like a sailor, I think we'll be fine."

"If there is anything you need..."

"I'll be sure to ask; after all, it's only for two weeks before he comes back here. With all your research and a child to care for, it's a wonder how you will manage."

From the troubled look on his face, she knew he was wondering that himself.

"I'm sure we could arrange to take him longer-"

"No, it's fine," Ansem assured. Rising to his feet, he came beside her, and reached up to smooth back the brown strands.

Shera seemed to understand, and added as an afterthought, "Good luck convincing your advisers."

"Thank you, again."

"...and whatever you do, don't touch that. Got it?"

The boy nodded silently, focused on the insides of the exposed airship engine that Cid was showing him. It was his third day here, and already the retired pilot was taking him through his workshop, if only to make sure that nothing got damaged if he ever looked away.

With a grunt, Cid discarded the limp piece of straw he had been chewing for the past hour - all his conscience refused to let him smoke with this kid in the room, and that was the only other alternative he had. Replacing the straw with a fresh piece, he cast a glance at the clock on the wall.  
"The kid's gonna be here soon...right, then. Don't move, and don't touch anything."

As pots clanked and cluttered in the next room, Squall turned as the main door swung open. Stepping through was an older boy with dark spikes of hair and a grin on his face. And in that boy's arms was a younger boy with a tuft of blond on his head.

"Mr. Cid, are you there?"

"That you, Zack? Sit your rear end down, and I'll get that tea for y'," Cid called from the next room. In a moment, more pots were clanking.

Turning, Zack spotted Squall staring openly at him. His grin widening he strode up and leaned down so he was a few bare inches from the other kid's face.  
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey! Who're you?"

"That's Squall," Cid called again. "And don't make him touch anything...!"

"Squall, huh? I'm Zack, and this here is Cloud."

The boy blinked as the smaller child was held up before him. Huge blue eyes bore into steel gray ones as the child cocked his head up at him. And then a chubby finger reached out and poked Squall in the left eye, promptly earning a response.

"Hey!"

Cid, finally stepping back out, dropped his straw again in a moment of surprise, staring straight at Squall.  
"...well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, so you _can_ talk!" he exclaimed.

Squall's only response was to rub at his eye and glare back at the innocent-looking child that now smiled at him. Zack seemed to enjoy the turn of events as well, as he reached over and mussed the head of brown hair.

"Hey, Mr. Cid! Can me and Cloud borrow him?" he suddenly turned to ask, earning a shrug from the man.

"If it gets all of you outta here, go ahead!"

* * *

Two weeks. Fourteen days and thirteen nights.

There was no logical explanation for why any discussion should take this long. They weren't even discussing the passing of a new law - just every last implication of having a possibly off-world child stay in the castle.

The only one that had been of any help was King Mickey - who had come all the way from his own kingdom in a show of support - and even then the debate dragged on. It was only at last - when he finally reached the end of his nerve - that they brought the talks to a halt and agreed with his decision. And at last, on this thirteenth night, they all retired.

Now, alone in his study, Ansem turned and laid a hand on the book he had left on his desk all this time. The jacket could not be salvaged, in its state of ruin, but this book was still intact. It was all the boy had left, perhaps his last remaining clue of his origins.

Pulling open a drawer, Ansem slid it inside. There would be a time for it. Someday.

**

* * *

Stellar Eclipse**: I think I looked at that deviant around eight or nine times myself, just to get that bit with Squall and Cloud right. XD  
_I'm_ glad that you liked it.

**Shadow Cat17**: Er...heh...pretty much. Can't give away a lot, else WKR will be at stake; sorry about that. I'm not sure if I'll continue to address this matter in the following drabbles, but it will be touched upon in the actual story. Please be patient with me - I promise I'll get it up quick!

**Niana Kuonji**: Ah, yes, Ansem and the Can of Worms. For someone who is called "the Wise", he's in trouble. XD  
Good luck with both Kingdom Hearts I and II! And again, I credit the picture from proximity-nine's gallery for inspiring that moment - otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would not have thought about it.


End file.
